Writers Won't Survive: The 197th Hunger Games
by Insane Chocolate Porcupine
Summary: There are many foolish children in the districts who write stories about the games as a form of fun. As entertainment. They are not in the least bit frightened of them. These children must be eliminated, they must suffer. Let the 197th Hunger Games begin. 24 author 24 tribute collaboration, see inside or PM for details.
1. Prologue and Info

**A/N: Yo. Hungergameslover10210 here, here to bring you awesomeness!**

**I have twenty-two spots open currently. Allow me to explain before I give you some story to read.**

**This will be a 24 author 24 tribute colaboration, but we authors will actually BE the tributes! If you have a cool username, then I will choose your name for you. If you want to use your real name, fantastic. If not, here's how it works: If your name was, say, Elizabeth, then first shorten it, like so: Elize. Now change the Z to a S. Elise. Change the E to a A. Alise. Make one more simple change, and you have Aleese. Now say your last name was Jones. J to a D. Dones. O to a U. Dunes. S to a Z. Dunez. Aleese Dunez.  
Now, if you are under/over age for the Hunger Games, change it! Are you 20? Now you are 16/17/18! Or, even if you are 13, be 18 if you want!  
**

**last but not least, choose your District! You could choose it from those Panem maps on Google or just choose your own. I AM THE DISTRICT 4 FEMALE.**

**PM me for more information and/or suggestions. Or I won't let you in. Rawr.**

**Okay, on to the story.**

Head Gamemaker's POV

These will be the bloodiest, most brutal games ever. I should know, I am the Head Gamemaker. My name is Cruenta Mcstar, if you do not already know. I have been the Head Gamemaker for the last twenty years and have witness both victory and tragedy.

The president has just sent me a message. He says that there are many foolish people who write about the Games like stories, like entertainment. They are not frightened by the games like they should be.

They must be eliminated. They must be scarred for the rest of their miserable lives.

Let the 197th Hunger Games begin.


	2. District 10 Female: Geoclyn Venras

**THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BY _HUNGERGAMESLOVER10210_, IT IS BY _DREAMWRITER5EVER_**

Geoclyn's POV

I wake up very early, before the sun. Slipping into worn sneakers and some clothes, I grab my notebook and a pencil. I quietly slip out the door and head towards the woods. Once there, I climb a tree, listening to the sounds of the crickets and even the occasional owl. I can never sleep till my alarm goes off on the day of the Reaping. Instead, I write poems and songs and stories. But, today, I can't write. There's something different about today, something...uneasy. Instead, I walk. I have to walk softly, though, for fear of waking predators or the cattle. Both could harm me if awakened suddenly. The time flies quickly, and soon, I'm dressed up for the reaping.

My younger sister, Reehna, stares up at me sadly. She's only seven. "Don't go," She whispers. I tell her, "Don't worry, kid. I'll come back." And I mean this, for I am the only one who will raise her. My father is a drunk, and my mother, she's...dead. I hunt once in a while, but I make a living from working overtime in the field, and in the markets. I sing in public, and take what people give me.

As I leave my sister with my best friend Jessy's family, he falls in step beside me. Dark hair falls in his face, hiding the hazel eyes he dislikes so much. I wipe the hair out of his face, "Stop that." He smiles, and I laugh. We split up, taking our seats. I take a shaky breath, smoothing my dress. Behind me, girls are whispering about Josh Whincrept's good looks. Beside me, girls whisper about their new Hunger Games stories. I ball my fists up. I am not one of them. I am an outcast.

The strange dressed man walks up on stage, "Welcome, welcome!" He smiles, waving. A hush falls upon the crowd. "Welcome to the 197th Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Let's get to it!" He shouts, and his hand dives into the girl's bowl, "Ladies first." He winks. I shut my eyes fearfully. It feels like hours, but finally he shouts, "And our female tribute representing District 10 shall be...Geoclyn Venras!"

All heads turn to me. I panic, but take breaths. Not in front of Reehna. I stand, head high, forcing my hand to stop rubbing my wrist, a nervous habit of mine. I sigh, as the crowd parts for me. I spot my sister trying to kick her way out of Cruda's-Jessy's mother-arms, silent tears slipping down her face. I look away. Then, I spot Jessy. He is staring right at me, 'I'll come with you,' He mouths. I shake my head, 'No,' I mouth back, 'Stay with Kandi and Huntar. And Reehna. Help my sister.' Kandy and Huntar are Jessy's little siblings. Tears roll down my now red cheeks, but I keep my head high.

"Come, darling," Mayor Pary says, looking sympathetic. I shrug off his hand on my shoulder. My mentor, a man that reminds me of my father from his drunk look, says, "Come, sweetheart, I'm Mikal." He winks at me, looking more like my father than ever. I stare at him. As Mikal says something else, I lock eyes with Jessy once again, _I'm not going to survive_, I think, while smiling to him, I barely know how to hunt, I can't tie a knot, all I know how to do is climb trees and write. And how am I supposed to _kill_ somebody?' These questions take over my mind as the male tribute is called up.


	3. District 5 Female: Kay Kompz

_**THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BY HUNGERGAMESLOVER10210, IT IS BY KOMPLETLYKRAZYKAY.**_

Dazzling colors swirl in my brain, bloody and tragic and heartbreakingly amusing. I sense my muse for my next story, the next joke to share with my friends.

_How many times has this game turned to cannibalism?_ "Kay," Edward pulls my foot, pulling me under into consciousness and that weird thing called reality.

"Kay!" I try to ignore him, until I hear the tears. "Sissy . . ."

"What is it, Ed?" I roll over, brushing off my awe-inspiring dream. He curls up next to me innocently. "What's wrong?"

"It's the reaping today," he pouts. I smirk. "Why are you smiling?"

"Wanna go play in some toxic waste instead?"

"Kay!" I hear my mother snap. "What did you just tell your brother?"

I bite my lip, sitting up and popping a few random joints. "Oh, nothing, mother dear." Just wondering how much my proximity to the faulty nuclear reactor is affecting my brain."So today's the reaping, huh?"

She rolls her eyes at me and tells me to get my reaping clothes together. Disregarding her words, I toss on my preferred apparel of acid washed skinny jeans (I hear it was a fad half a millennium ago, along with the strange shoes that I've picked up with the star on the ankle, Chuck Taylor written in some old-fashioned script) and a light green long sleeved sequined top.

I squeeze out my window, expertly dashing over the cement buildings to the water tank above the west nuclear power plant.

Sometimes I entirely wish we lived in the wind sector instead of the nuclear. I guess we are smarter over here, but we don't live as long. The Capitol covers up the nuclear leaks that happen over here and the people who grow an extra limb are killed off before news gets to the solar sector. It's a lovely life, isn't it?

I climb to the highest point in the sector, the water tower. I sit on the catwalk, feet dangling, panting lightly. I feel slight vibrations in the metal and look over to see Kitty and Amiea coming up the ladder. I smile at them, my long light brown hair seeming to float in the updraft. I half watch my friends while still watching the tendrils of my hair float in a strange brown halo.

"Not mutated yet?" I ask jokingly. "Still alive? No cancer? No third eye? Wait . . . a third eye would be pretty cool . . ."

Kitty and Amiea sit to my left, their hair forming little halos as well. Kitty elbows me,

"Shut it, Kay. The Capitol probably has the entire sector bugged today, being the reaping day and all."

"Oh! Speaking of the games, I was wondering, how many times do you think it's turned to cannibalism?" I ignore her paranoia and ask anyways. "I was thinking of throwing a little joy-story together, you know?"

"Kay," Amiea says this time. "You need to stop it. There's a rumor going around saying that they're targeting those who aren't taking the games seriously anymore. You know how people don't have to put their names in as much anymore?"

"Yea," I nod, pursing my lips. "So? Are they going to tell me that I can't write my stories?"

"Not while the Capitol's pissed off," Kitty says softly. I look at her, slightly irritated at having this conversation again.

"Come on, it's bad enough sneaking off for a half hour the day of the reaping. I'm heading back."

"See you at the gallows!" I laugh as she throws me a look. Amiea slaps my leg, leaving a bit of a sting behind. "Ouch."

"Just . . . no . . ." Amiea gets up and leaves as well.

"Aw," I put theatrically. "I guess it's a short meeting today." I wait a few minutes so I don't run into them running back home. They both seemed to be in a bit of a mood.

I take my usual course again, leaping over alleys and exhaust pipes and any obstacle in the way. Running like this, over everything and over nothing, is the only thing that makes me feel sane.

I sneak back in the window to my small room, get out my nice, violet dress and take a lightening quick shower and am dressed with semi-dry hair before my mom starts pounding on the door again.

"KAY! COME ON!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I sigh, twisting my hair up in a bun and slide on my white boots.

"About time," she shakes her head, smiling sadly. Edward clings to my hand. My father, one of the sector officials, has been there all day.  
We're all checked in, herded into our little death pens. I smile faintly at the thought. I see Amiea and Kitty standing together across the large stretch for the fifteen year old girls.

The process in the districts as large as ours, the ones that are divided into sectors, have a drawing of five from each age group in each sector, then are put into once big bowl in the center of the district. I've been put in that bunch every year, so it's no heart jerker when I hear my name called. So, just like every year since I was twelve, I go from the gallows to the execution yard for the final drawings that night.

"Kay," Edward holds onto my legs. "You won't get drawn this year, right?"

"Of course not," I shake my head. "Have I ever been put in the games?" I openly laugh and he looks up me. "Don't worry, bud."

He nods and runs back to our mother, leaving me to get there by myself, just like every year. I get in the bus for the girls and head there, watching the trembling twelve year old girls with amusement that I feel slightly guilty about. It's a strange feeling, guilt.

We get to the main square in the center of the district. There's only 280 kids here right now. It's a much more suspenseful atmosphere, with fear tangible on the air. I can taste it in my throat, and for the first time since I was twelve, I feel a bit nervous. I swallow it back and ignore it.

"Welcome to the final drawing of the District 5 tributes for the 197th annual Hunger Games," our Capitol rep, Floweray Delarouse says into a microphone. Everyone falls even quieter than they were before.

"Per usual, we will draw the female tribute first." Floweray takes a few echoing steps towards the glass bowl that holds the one hundred and forty girl's names. One of us is going to go off to our probable death. What if my name is finally drawn? What am I going to do? Would I be okay? Well, I might be, if I'm thrown on top of a city. I can run. Yeah, I can run, I can leap, I can jump. Would that keep me alive? Could I make it out of that first bloodbath? I think I could, but what about food?

What if they draw my –

"Kay Kompz." The crowd shuffles, the other kids from my sector looking towards me. I swallow thickly as I step out of the crowd, heading up to the Capitol rep. "Any volunteers?"

After a few moments of silence, they continue. "Welcome, Kay Kompz, to the 197th annual Hunger Games." I emotionlessly ignore the male drawing.

What had Kitty said just this morning? What is she saying now? What about Amiea? My mother, my father? What about Edward? Oh God, what about Edward? My heart throbs in my chest, my face perfectly stoic.

I'm marched into the square building, and am put into a fancy room to my own devises until they send me off to the games that I so enjoy writing about.  
_I wonder how many times these games have turned to cannibalism?_


	4. District 8 Female: Celiara Teriand

_**THIS CHAPTER IS BY THECRIMSONPEN, NOT HUNGERGAMESLOVER10210**_

"God in Heaven, Ara, get down here! You're going to be late for the Reaping!"

"Alright, just give me one second…" I trail off softly, chewing on the nub of my pencil. With a gentle sweep, I finish off the neckline of my new gown. There. Perfect.

"Ara, what could be more important than… Oh my gosh, that's gorgeous! You designed that?" Raya leans over my shoulder, her breath warm on the side of my face. She smells like fresh wool and berries, the scent of the dying room where she works.

I smile. "Thanks, Ray."

"No, darling, I mean it! You should work in Designs!"

And just like that, my happiness is gone. "Yeah, well, that's not going to happen, is it?" I rip off my apron and stuff it in the bag at my feet. "Come on, we have to go."

"No, really? It's not like I've been saying that for the last ten minutes…!" I roll my eyes, walking briskly out the doors of Farmine Fabrics. Ray catches up, throwing her arm around my shoulder.

"Ara, wait up! You know my legs are about half the length of yours!" she pants, practically jogging. "Aaaaarrrrraaaaa!"

"Come on, it's like a half a mile to go."

"Ugh!" I ignore her grunt of protest. "So, anyway, what I was saying before. You're a hundred times more talented than any of the others… especially Karentine!"

"Huh. Well, that doesn't matter. I don't have the rich, fat-cat daddy who can buy my way into that position." I shrug my friend's arm off of me.

"Oh, Ara, I didn't mean it like that…. You know, I just—"

"It's fine, Ray." We step into the throng outside the town square. "There, let's go."

The town bell rings eleven o'clock just as the Peacekeeper takes my blood. "Go. "

"Wow, he's not the most talkative, is he?" I elbow Ray, shutting her up. We elbow our way through the crowd to the sixteen year old section. I squeeze into the back row, pressed between Ray in front of me and the sturdy rope behind. The sun is already beating down, and I feel sweat slick the cheap cotton of my dress between my shoulder blades.

"I still can't believe you didn't bother to get dressed up," Ray hisses.

"Why bother? I do this every year."

"But still, all the guys are here! You could make a great impression."

"Yes, the strange ex-mayor's daughter is totally the catch of the year."

"Ara, don't think of yourself that way. You're gorgeous, and you know it!"

"Do you know how ridiculous that—"

"Good morning, young monsieurs and mademoiselles!" Ray and I exchange a glance. This is how Tarese begins all her speeches. "Now is the time we all have been waiting for! The Reaping for this year's Hunger Games!"

Yes, the time we've all been waiting for! Where two innocent young kids get thrown into an arena to kill each other. Or, more commonly, get slaughtered in the first two days. All the Hunger Games does is turn teenagers into murderers.

"Ladies first, of course!" Slowly, deliberately, Tarese stretches her long, ring-covered fingers into the small glass bowl of paper. Seconds later, her hand draws back out, clutching two pieces of paper. The crowd inhales.

One of the people on those slips will be spared. The other will die. One white paper bird flutters to a landing back inside the bowl, and Tarese snaps the other open and reads out the name.

"Celiara Teriand!"

Who? What did she say? My head is spinning, and the screaming from the short girl in front of me is overpowering my thoughts. What happened?

"No, no, no, Ara! They called you! No, please! Don't take her!" I feel strong hands grip my shoulders, and suddenly I'm in front of the stage. What's going on? Why is Ray shrieking?

"Subdue the friend, take her home." Why does Ray need to go home? The screaming cuts off suddenly, and the silence around me is even more disconcerting than the noise before.

Then I'm on stage, and the sea of faces looking up at me makes my stomach clench. My vision tunnels, until all I see is the woman next to me. It finally clicks.

It's me. I'm the tribute. I'm going to die.

And there's almost nothing I can do about it.


End file.
